


Shorts

by Sir_Bedevere



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Canon, Fluff, Gen, M/M, Post-Seine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2018-03-11
Packaged: 2018-06-10 07:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 9,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6944746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sir_Bedevere/pseuds/Sir_Bedevere
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which I gather all of my teeny tiny dabblings in one place. Some will be happy. Some will be sad. Some will be AU. Some will be canon. All will be entertaining (I hope)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Modern AU - The School Gate

The first time Cosette almost made him cry was at the school gate, unfortunately. He had, miraculously, got off work early that day and, finding Jean up to his elbows in dirt in the garden, had offered to pick Cosette up from a school. He was on the list, after all; he may as well make use of it once or twice. The gate was full of women, chattering mothers and grandmothers, with the odd father here and there. Javert suspected it was only his uniform, which he hadn’t yet changed, which was keeping him safe from being ejected from this group.

When the children began to come out, herded by teachers and learning assistants, Javert ignored the little voice calling for their daddy and looked for Cosette in the crowd. It was only when something small and solid hit him in the stomach that he realised he had missed her.

“Daddy! Daddy, you’re at school!”

_Daddy._

She had never called him that before, and he had never expected it. Jean was Papa but he had always been just Javert, or Uncle Javert when she wanted something.

_Daddy._

When he scooped her up and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, he took the moment to wipe his tears away too. It would never do for this crowd of magpies to see him weeping. He’d never recover from that.


	2. Modern AU - Nightmares

The night Jean went out of town, Cosette had a nightmare.

Jean hadn’t wanted to go, searched for every excuse he could come up with to get out of the trip, and came up with nothing that Javert was going to believe.

“I’ve never left her,” he confessed eventually, when Javert withheld his kisses until the other man told the truth, “The whole of our lives together, I have never spent a night away.”

Then, impossibly, Jean blushed more.

“And you. I have not slept alone since – since that night.”

Javert felt his heart threaten to burst at Jean’s words and forced himself to calm, “You slept many nights without me before. And she is strong and brave and she will survive, as will you. Besides, I am here. She will not suffer your absence too much.”

Jean’s answering kiss almost knocked him over, so he knew that he had said the right thing.

And Javert was good as his word. He left work early to be there to pick Cosette up from school, and they caught an afternoon showing of some film she had been talking about. They picked up pizza on the way home and, after she had done her homework, they sat side by side and watched cartoons before she took herself off to bed. It had been a simple evening, enjoyable even, Javert reflected as he took a beer from the fridge. Cosette was a good kid. If all of them were like her – if all of them had been raised by Jean – he might be inclined to like more of them.

The first he knew of the nightmare, well past midnight when he finally dragged himself into a bed that felt cold and unwelcoming for the first time since he had spent that first night in it, was the click of the door and the soft shuffle of feet on the carpet.

“Daddy?”

Cosette.

He turned and clicked on the lamp, grateful he had opted for pyjamas that night. She stood blinking in the light and he noted the shine of tears before he saw anything else.

“What happened?”

She clutched Catherine to her chest and dissolved into tears before she could make herself speak. Javert froze; Jean dealt with tears and cuddles and soothing. Javert had no talent for that sort of thing and he knew he had failed the first test when Cosette turned and ran from the room.

“Cosette! Come back, please!”

She did not return, so he clambered from bed and followed her into her room, two doors down and across the landing. She was face down on her bed, trembling, and before he could fight the voice of doubt in his head, Javert had scooped her up. Far from fighting, which he had secretly worried would happen, Cosette wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder. Like this, in his arms, he was reminded of who young she still was, how painfully small.

“What happened?”

“I – Madame was there and she screamed at me and I ran,” Cosette stopped to catch her breath, “But Papa didn’t come like before and I couldn’t find him and I couldn’t find you and I was so scared.”

With that, the tears returned and he felt them soaking into his shirt as he made soothing noises and walked them back to his bedroom. He did not deal well with tears but he knew what Jean would do and that was almost good enough.

“Come and sleep with me,” he said, putting Cosette down and holding the duvet back whilst she nestled in the space between his pillow and Jean’s.

“You can use his pillow,” Javert said gruffly, slipping in beside her and turning off the lamp, “It smells of him.”

After no small amount of fidgeting, and little elbows in his ribs, Cosette had moulded herself to him and had, thankfully, stopped crying. Javert tried to care about this invasion of his space, but he found he did not mind.

“You are safe here,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head, “And you always will be, with Papa and me.”

“I know,” she yawned, nuzzling his shoulder, “Night, night Daddy. I love you.”

“Night night, little one,” Javert swallowed, “Sleep well. I’ll be here.”


	3. Post Seine - 'My List'

Cosette, from the moment she learned to read and write, kept a list of her very dearest wishes. Top of that list, besides marrying a prince and having a real castle, was to find Papa someone who would love him just as much as Cosette believed he should be loved.

She forgot about her list until she moved her old things to Marius’ house, and she found the leaf in an old journal. Well, she had her prince and her castle. It was a shame about Papa.

One year later, she cried as she ticked that one off too, watching Papa and dear Javert share a book beside the fire in the library. It was not what she had imagined when she was a little thing and wrote her list, but she was not one to turn a precious thing away.


	4. Modern AU - Baby Makes Four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A new baby? In the early hours of the morning, Javert isn't sure he remembers why he signed up...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Did I write more shamefully fluffy modern AU? Well, yeah. But it's only a teeny tiny chapter and maybe it won't ruin my rep too much ;)

The baby screamed, for what could have been hours or what could have been days; Javert was not sure that he could reliably distinguish time anymore. The whole world had narrowed until all there was in it was his desk and people crying, for both Jean and Cosette had been without sleep for days. It was the sound of Jean weeping, cradling the baby, that had dragged Javert from his bed at three in the morning, despite the fact he had only very recently got into it and would need to be leaving it fairly early as well. Jean was hunched in the rocking chair in the nursery, tears running down his face.

“Javert – God, I’m sorry. Did he wake you?”

“The boy could wake the dead, Jean. He has already done so for his sister. She is crying next door.”

“I don’t know – I never had Cosette when she was this young. I don’t know what to do.”

“You will give him to me, and you will get some sleep,” Javert said firmly, plucking the baby away before Jean could argue, dropping a kiss to his tear stained cheek.

“The young man and I are going for a drive. I will see you when I return.”

And that was how he found himself now, driving the streets of Paris at nearly four am, trying to tune out Gavroche’s cries. He had stopped screaming, a most blessed event, but now he just cried and Javert knew Jean would take that even less well than the screams. He tried talking to the baby, reciting laws and codes until his throat hurt, and it did not work. The boy was stubborn, that much was clear. Just like his new sister, obviously. At the thought of Cosette, Javert began to sing her favourite song, the one she always begged him to sing to her.

“In Penny Lane there is a barbershop, showing photographs of every head he’s had the pleasure to have known…”

He had almost finished as much of the song as he could remember when he realised Gavroche had stopped crying, but as soon as he stopped, the boy began to whimper.

_Shit, shit, another song._

“Starry starry night, paint your palettes blue and grey…”

Three more songs and the boy was sound asleep in his carrier. With rush of pride, Javert cruised home and had the baby settled back in his nursery as soon as he could manage it.

He found Jean and Cosette in his bed, sleeping peacefully. Cosette was clutching Catherine and Jean had wrapped himself around her, so Javert slipped in behind him and gathered the pair of them into his arms. He was busy pressing a kiss to Jean’s ear when he stirred and turned his head so Javert could kiss his mouth instead.

“It’s quiet.”

“It is.”

“You didn’t take him and leave him on a doorstep somewhere, did you?”

“Of course not,” Javert huffed, his sleepless hours catching him up already, eyes half closed, “In the morning you will find him bound and gagged in the nursery.”

“Thank you, my love. Thank you.”


	5. Modern AU - Stars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert takes the kids on a drive

“Where are we going, Daddy?”

Javert glanced in his rear view mirror to find Cosette peering at him intently. She was bundled up in her winter coat, with a hat pulled down low over her ears and a scarf wrapped so snugly around her face that all he could really see was a pair of almost-suspicious eyes. 

“To see the stars.”

“We can see the stars at home,” she mumbled, but then, thankfully, went quiet. Javert cast half an eye over Gavroche, similarly wrapped up but asleep in his car seat. When he had suggested this little trip out to the observatory, unsure of how Jean would react to the children being up so late, he had been almost knocked over by the man’s enthusiasm. A nasty headache had forced him to stay home this evening but he had insisted they still come; it wasn’t every day you got a good view of Mars, after all. 

The car park wasn’t full, thankfully, but Javert had forgotten quite how steep the climb up the hill to the observatory was. He eyed it with a sigh but Cosette was out of the car by then, and looking at him expectantly. He unbuckled Gavroche and lifted him out, hoisting the sleeping boy over his shoulder.

“Daddy, what is it?”

“It’s called an observatory. It used to be my favourite place, when I was a kid.”

“Really?”

“Really. Can you make it up the hill?”

“Yeah.”

She grabbed his hand and struck out, determined to prove herself. True to her word, she made it almost all the way up without stopping and he had to admit he was impressed; Cosette was such a little thing but she never let that stop her. If anything, he was more breathless than she. When he stopped to catch his breath, he shifted Gavroche to his other shoulder and found that the boy was awake, nestled against him but watching carefully. 

“Daddy. Wher’ Papa?”

“Papa’s at home,” Javert murmured, “You’re here with me.”

“’K.”

The telescope was as impressive as he remembered and they did not have to wait for long in the small queue. A young woman, brimming with enthusiasm at this ungodly hour in the evening, explained how it all worked to Cosette and helped her look for the planet. Cosette’s squeal when she found it was worth the drive. Javert held Gavroche up so he could see too and although he wasn’t sure the toddler would know what he was doing, he did at least seem to be looking. Then the woman offered to hold Gavroche so Javert could take a look too. He’d never seen Mars like this – it didn’t come round that often – and it was impressive, burning red like nothing he had ever seen. No wonder the Romans had named their war god for it.

He thanked the woman, who had been entirely charmed by Gavroche in a few minutes and led Cosette out of the building, back towards the car. They walked slowly down the hill and he held her hand, so she could look up at the stars. 

“Daddy,” she said, as he strapped Gavroche back in to his seat, “I like the observatory.”

“Good.”

“But I like it better in the garden when you tell me about the drawings in the sky.”

“The constellations.”

“Yeah, them.”

He wasn’t expecting the small arms that wrapped around his stomach, but he was becoming more used to it as time went by. He bent down and picked her up, pressing a kiss to her forehead.

“Shall we go home to sleep? Papa’s probably waiting up.”

“Even though you told him not to?”

“Even though I told him not to.”


	6. Modern AU -Batpants

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Their first time was...memorable

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter kind of skirts close to an M rating, maybe, although I personally wouldn't be offended if I saw it in a T rated fic...

He wasn’t sure how he had ended up here, pinned against the wall at the bottom of Jean Valjean’s stairs, but Javert didn’t feel much like analysing it.

What he did feel was Jean’s mouth, pressed to his neck, hot and warm and oh god, sucking on his pulse. Javert moaned, low in his throat, and his hands scrabbled at Jean’s back, holding onto his shirt desperately.

“Jean,” he mumbled, “Let’s –”

“Upstairs,” Jean gasped, breaking away and tugging at Javert’s hand. Javert did not know how he made it up the stairs but then he was in Jean’s bedroom and it didn’t matter.

“Javert, are you alright?”

Jean was resting a hand on his shoulder, and Javert was relieved to see that Jean seemed as nervous as he.

“I just – let’s slow it down, yeah? I want to make this last.”

He felt himself blush as he spoke. What right did he have to demand anything of this man? Jean had allowed him into his life, into his little family of two and now into his bedroom, and Javert was daring to make demands? 

Jean flopped down onto the bed beside him, a tentative hand sliding into Javert’s hair. His nails scratched gently as he pulled his fingers through and Javert had to close his eyes to compose himself. 

“Slow,” Jean mumbled, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Javert’s mouth, “Slow is good.”

They kissed lazily, sloppy in a way that Javert had never allowed himself to be sloppy, and when, finally, he felt Jean unbutton his jeans and slide his hand into his waistband, Javert felt a little calmer, a little more grounded.

Jean pushed himself up, releasing his hand and going instead to pull Javert’s jeans down. As soon as he heard Jean chuckle, Javert remembered.

_Oh Christ alive._

“Batman,” Jean said, running the back of his hand slowly over Javert’s underwear, carefully avoiding the thing Javert really wanted him to be touching right now, “I didn’t have you down as the type.”

“They were on sale,” Javert confessed, hands pressed over his eyes, face burning so much he thought he might pass out there and then, “I didn’t have a lot of choice at the time.”

Jean didn’t laugh anymore, thank goodness. He slipped his hand inside Javert’s underwear, grasping him, drawing a moan from Javert’s throat that he didn’t know he was capable of.

“I like them,” Jean whispered, “They make you – human.”

Another firm stroke and Javert peeked out from beneath his hands, breathing ragged.

“Really?”

“Sure. I always preferred Superman myself, of course,” Jean sprawled over him, hand trapped between them, and kissed Javert’s face, lips creeping up to whisper in his ear, “But it won’t matter in a minute, when I tear them off you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this whole 'Shorts' affair has just turned into a modern AU takeover...ah well. To add to the fun, none of these have been in chronological order and they will continue to not be so :D


	7. Modern AU - The Wonder of You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, gang - I am going to be spending the next three months of my life beyond stressed with full time work and a masters degree in its second semester, so I might not be around so much (not that I am terribly prolific anyway, I know). I am working on something with iberiandoctor, however slowly that comes along, and all I might have to offer aside from that are these small letting off steam drabbles. So I hope everyone has a good start to the year and I'll be around as often as I can <3

He’d got home late from work, caught up in processing a dealer who the beat cops had dragged in just before Javert was due to sign off. He’d helped out, of course; the guy was particularly nasty and they’d been onto him for a while. It had been sweet to watch him thrown in the cell, and it was only then that Javert remembered to text Jean.

SORRY, GOING TO BE LATE.

His phone beeped as he walked out to his car; it was cold, really cold, and he was glad he had thought to put the windscreen cover on that morning. He didn’t feel like being out for a minute longer than he had to be.

NO PROBLEM. SEE YOU SOON :) XX

Jean had always ended his messages with kisses, ever since the first time that Javert had been brave enough to give him his number. Jean was the only person who ever sent him kisses and it still caught him off guard, even now, four years later.

The house was aglow when he pulled up outside and there was a knocking as he got out of the car. Glancing up, he saw Cosette at the window, waving to him. She was mouthing something he couldn’t hear, probably calling to her father, and he waved back.

As soon as he opened the door, a pyjama clad missile launched into his arms.

“Daddy!”

“Hey baby,” Javert said, hoisting Cosette up until she could rest on his hip, “Why are you still up?”

“Papa said I could, to show you something I got at school today.”

She rested her blonde head on his shoulder, breath warm on his neck, and Javert decided that removing his coat wasn’t the number one priority right then. He hooked the door closed with his foot and went through to the kitchen. Jean was at the stove, tasting something from a teaspoon and humming.

Cosette clamoured to be let down and he took the opportunity when she went speeding out of the room to kiss Jean.

“Sorry. We caught a big fish.”

“No problem,” Jean turned and squeezed his hand, “Dinner will be ready in fifteen.”

Cosette came back clutching a piece of paper that she held out proudly. Quirking an eyebrow at Jean, Javert took it carefully. It was a certificate, awarded for going above and beyond the call of duty.

“Wow,” he said, “What did you do?”

Cosette looked ready to burst with pride. Jean wasn’t far off that look himself, actually.

“Some of the big boys were picking on Noah,” Cosette said, “And I went up to them and told them to stop and when they wouldn’t I got in the way so they couldn’t hurt him and screamed until Mr Fauchelevent came and found us.”

“Noah,” Javert racked his memory, “Is he the one-”

“Yep,” Jean said.

Noah was a tiny boy with Downs Syndrome, an easy target even at a school as good as Cosette’s was supposed to be.

“Well, mademoiselle, I am very impressed,” Javert scooped her up again and kissed her cheeks, “That was a very brave thing to do.”

“It wasn’t brave, Papa,” she said, “It was right.”

Judging by Jean’s laugh, he must have had quite a look on his face, hearing his words parroted back at him. 

“Come on,” he said, “I’ll tuck you in and you can tell me more about it.”

Ten minutes later, on his return to the kitchen, Jean was laying the table. As he turned to the stove, Javert stole up behind him and wrapped his arms around him, burying his face in Jean’s shoulder. Jean sighed and his hand came up to tangle in Javert’s hair.

“Thanks for dinner.”

“You haven’t eaten it yet.”

“Doesn’t matter.”

Jean hummed and turned in his arms, pressing his lips to Javert’s until he yielded and kissed him back.

“What’s up?” Jean whispered, when they both came up for air, “You’re quieter than usual.”

“Just wondering how I got so lucky,” Javert confessed. There was no point hiding anything from Jean – he always knew anyway.

“Funny,” Jean said, tugging Javert down until their foreheads rested together, “When I saw you carry our daughter up to bed, I found myself wondering the exact same thing.”


	8. Modern AU - First Impressions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for suicide attempt and strong language

It had to be raining, didn’t it? It hadn’t rained for weeks and now, on the night he’d finally decided to take a walk off the edge of the bridge, the weather was so fucking clichéd that he’d look like a freaking melodramatic asshole.

Well, it couldn’t be helped.

Javert hovered near the railing, watching the raindrops fall onto the river. The patter was loud enough to drain out the sound of the traffic on the main road and he could kid himself he was alone. Then again, it was so dark and the rain so heavy that no one would see him anyway, even with the orange glow of the streetlights that lined the bridge. 

Pulling the hood up on his coat, he lit a cigarette with a steady hand. Tobacco had been his only vice, in a life of soulless living, and once upon a time he had been concerned that it would kill him. If he’d known that he would end up here, perhaps he’d have indulged a little more in everything he had denied himself. A life of healthy eating, abstinence and near constant chastity hadn’t helped in the end, had it? He could still hear the screams in his head, the echoes of the nightmares that had been keeping him up and if he closed his eyes, he could still see that kid’s face, his head staved in and a gun clutched in his hand.

_Christ._

His cigarette dropped from his mouth and hit the shiny pavement, and when Javert reached out his hands to the railings, this time he wasn’t so steady.

The metal was cold, slick to the touch and as Javert lifted his leg over the bar, he caught himself being careful, like that was going to matter in a minute or two. For a split second, he considered not even letting his second foot come to rest on the edge of the bridge and just letting go, but his battered self-preservation raised its head just enough to stop him.

Javert gazed down at the swirling water, the current strong beneath the bridge, and tried to breathe. He hated water, fucking hated it, and this was only fair. This was the only thing he deserved. A bullet would be too quick. A car on the trainline was too selfish. An overdose was too much, too much like what had happened to Ma and Javert didn’t hate himself that much. Well…not quite.

He didn’t hear the footsteps over the screams ringing in his ears until it was too late.

“I don’t know about you,” said a man’s voice, “But I usually look at the water from this side of the railings.”

_Great._

“Do me a favour,” Javert said, “And piss off.”

“No. I don’t think I will.”

The man’s step was heavy as he came up to the railing, into Javert’s eyeline if he just turned his head a little.

“I’m going to stand here a moment,” the man said.

Javert didn’t reply, but the old policeman’s curiosity made him turn, just that fraction, to take a look at his new companion. 

The man was shorter than he was, wider at the shoulders, and his completely-inappropriate-for-the-weather t-shirt showed off some impressive arms. His hair was curly, brownish with flashes of grey that shone under the streetlight, and he had a short cropped beard to match. Just over his shoulder, Javert saw the car that he must have come from pulled up to the kerb.

“You a cop?” the man asked, pointlessly, because any fool could have ascertained that from his badge still pinned to his jacket. He was just trying to get Javert to talk.

“Well, you’re not actually in a uniform,” the man continued, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on the railing, “So you must be an inspector, right? I think that’s how it works.”

Javert kept his head turned away.

“I’m Jean,” the man said, “Jean Valjean. I’m on my way home, driving along, and I didn’t see you here. My daughter did. She told me to stop and come over.”

Daughter? Javert tried to look behind him to see if he had a bigger audience than he thought. Jean caught him looking and shook his head.

“Don’t worry, she’s in the car. I didn’t want her to see – well, you know.”

“She must have sharp eyes,” Javert said, “To see a man in black through rain like this.”

He hadn’t meant to speak, but the man’s voice was rolling through him, cutting through the noise in his head and it was quieter than it had been in weeks. 

“Cosette didn’t have the best start in life,” Jean said, “She’s had to be sharp, before she came to me.”

He was being vague on purpose. It was a technique that Javert had used at work, forcing a person to ask questions, drawing them out until there was a dialogue happening. Jena didn’t look much like law enforcement though. Perhaps he’d just had to talk a lot of people round in his life.

“She’s a good girl,” Jean said, when Javert once again did not speak, “She didn’t talk much either, when I first took her in. Can’t stop her now, of course.”

_Ah well. That explained it._

“Are you going to tell me your name?”

“Javert.”

“Javert. No first name?”

“Not one that I’ve used for a long time. Just Javert.”

Jean went quiet himself then, leaning over to look down at the water. His t-shirt sleeve rode up and Javert saw the dark edge of a tattoo on his bicep. Jean didn’t look like the sort to have ink, and Javert wanted to know what it was.

The rain eased and Jean pulled back before Javert could form the question. On the railings, Jean hand crept closer to Javert’s.

“So,” Jean said, “Am I going to have to drag you off here or will you come quietly?”

The question was so unexpected that Javert couldn’t answer straightaway. He should just do it now, before this stranger could hurl himself further into his life and ruin his plans. No bleeding heart with a hero complex was going to stop him, not when he’d already left his resignation on Chabouillet’s desk, not when – 

Cool fingers circled his wrist, and Javert felt all the fight drain from him, like he’d been winded. His legs were weak and barely holding him, but Jean was as strong as he looked and he pulled Javert over the rails as though he weighed nothing. He hit the pavement and rolled over, pulling his knees up to his chin. He’d failed even at this, failed at throwing himself off a bridge at the first touch of a hand from a handsome man. 

_Weak, weak, fucking weak and they’d all know it –_

A sob, much to his disgust, rumbled in his chest and forced itself from his mouth, followed by another and another until he was crying into his hands and hoping that he’d just be left alone. Jean had different ideas; he dropped to the ground beside him and pulled Javert’s hands away from his face.

“Look at me, Javert. Look at me!”

He opened his eyes, to find Jean’s gaze fixed on him.

“I’m here,” Jean said, “You’re not alone.”

He pulled Javert to him, holding him tightly, until Javert stopped fighting and fell into him, face buried in his shoulder. At least like this the man couldn’t see him weeping.

_You’re not alone._

Javert did not know how long they sat there, but Jean was shivering in his t-shirt by the time Javert stopped crying, and when Jean pulled him to his feet, they were both suddenly shy.

“Come on,” Jean said, “You can stay with us tonight. We have a spare room.”

A little girl was curled up on the backseat, a girl no older than five or six with shining golden hair, and Javert was so grateful that she was sleeping. He wasn’t sure that he could answer any more questions tonight, even from the kid who had probably saved his life.

“You could just take me home,” Javert mumbled as he folded himself into the front seat, “It’s not far from here.”

“I don’t think so,” Jean said carefully, “Cosette will want to know that you are alright, when she wakes up. And I make excellent pancakes at breakfast time.”

Javert snorted and wound his window down a crack as Jean pulled off the bridge and onto the main road. 

“I don’t like pancakes,” he said, marvelling at the lightness in his own voice. 

“That’s okay,” Jean laughed, “I make a good omelette too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I decided that in this AU, they haven't met before. It just makes life easier that way.


	9. Modern AU - Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Javert has bad dreams, sometimes

Javert supposed he should be grateful that it didn't happen the very moment that he moved in with Jean. His subconscious at least had the good grace to wait a few weeks before introducing his partner to his fucked up psyche. 

Javert had never shared a bed with anyone, beyond the odd one night here and there when he was younger, with whatever guy he could pick up and walk away from the next day. Truth be told, there hadn't been any for years before Jean pulled him down from that bridge, not that Javert had told him that for a long time.

“It's ok,” Jean had smiled, pulling him close, “There hasn't been anyone before you for more years than I can even remember.”

“You have an excuse,” Javert said, “You've been busy with Cosette.”

“Only for the last four years,” Jean nuzzled his ear, lips soft against his cheek, “Not much of an excuse before that.”

He started out staying for a few hours and then heading back to his own apartment, whatever the time of the night. He'd told Jean that he slept better in his own bed, and that was part of the truth. The rest of it was that he just wasn't ready, not for whatever it seemed that Jean was willing to offer him, and that he didn't want to freak Jean out too much with his nightmares. Thankfully, Jean accepted it easily enough. Perhaps he had known even then that Javert would eventually come to him permanently. He probably did. 

When Javert had caught up and seen the lie of his future, he gracelessly learned the art of sharing a bed and a life. How Jean didn't kill him in those first couple of weeks after he moved in, Javert did not know. He was moody and distant, he could see himself doing it, and Jean only smiled and waited some more. Each night he found Javert in whatever corner of the house he had squirrelled himself away in, and brought him to bed. At first Jean was content to let him lay on his side of the bed, just getting used to the idea of someone else breathing beside him. Then, inch by inch, night by night, he'd edged closer and closer until they were touching, and Javert found that he could bear this too. The night Jean turned on his side and wrapped an arm around him, Javert thought he might die, although whether from being overwhelmed or being happy, he could not tell. 

He slept better after that, trusting Jean and trusting himself. The trouble with a deep sleep was that the nightmares had a chance to unbury themselves. 

_It was always the same, always that kid from two years ago, the one who had almost made Javert jump. The kid who died with a bullet in his head as Javert tried to get him to put down the fake weapon he held in his hand. That kid was terrified, so scared and so sure of what he was doing, and Javert remembered the taste of his blood as the bullet hit him and the spray hit Javert in the face. The sniper had been dragged to a misconduct trial and fired, but that verdict didn't bring back that little boy who had been pressed into a war he didn't understand. The blood, always the blood, and the screams of the mother who had arrived just in time to see her baby die. The screams, the blood, and then Javert's own mother, choking on her own fluids as he hit her back again and again, then the blood. Always the blood, always the blood-_

He woke with a start, unable to move, and he struggled against the weight that held him down. He couldn't breathe, God he was choking –

“Javert, it's me,” a gentle voice, a soft hand on his face, “It's ok. It's only me.”

Jean. 

It was Jean’s arm across his chest, and he was in Jean’s bed, in their bed, and he was safe. 

There was no blood. No bullets. He was safe.

“Jean, Christ,” he laid back and put a hand over his face, “I'm so sorry. I'm sorry.”

“Don't apologise.”

Jean was sat up now, looking down at him so so gently that Javert inexplicably thought he would weep.

“What was that?”

“A nightmare,” Javert mumbled, “I get them sometimes. The kid, the one I told you about –“

“You were calling for your mother,” Jean reached out and stroked his sweaty hair back from his face, “She there too?”

Javert didn't feel like discussing the night she had died, not like this, so he just nodded. 

Jean wriggled down until he was under the duvet once more, and his lips came to Javert’s cheek. 

“I'm sorry,” he said, “You should have told me sooner.”

“It’s ok,” Javert closed his eyes, “They - they've been less frequent you know. Being here with you. I haven't had them so often.”

Jean’s arm came over him once more and Javert turned on his side, allowing Jean to tuck himself in behind him and bury his face against the back of his neck. It was confining, but Javert found he did not mind it at all. Whoever would have known that he liked to be held? 

“I'll protect you,” Jean murmured fiercely, “You don't have to hide from me.” 

“I know,” Javert grinned and lifted Jean’s hand to his mouth. He kissed each knuckle and then placed it over his own heart.


	10. Modern AU - Sick Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I keep looking at this thinking that I should do a chapter or two that isn't so horrifically fluffy, but then something happens and I end up wrapped in candyfloss again...

“Are you sure you’re up to this?” Jean shrugged into his jacket and eyed Javert, “You don’t look great.”

Javert snorted and tried to make it look like he wasn’t leaning on the doorframe for support. He was recovering from a nasty bout of flu, bad enough that even he had to admit that he wasn’t well. Jean pressed the back of his hand to Javert’s forehead. He was still very warm. Too ill to be left alone with the baby.

“I’m fine,” Javert said, “He’s two, Jean. I’m sure I’ll cope.”

As though he knew he was being talked about, Gavroche appeared at the top of the stairs behind Javert.

“Daddy, Cory’s in the potty!” he wailed.

Javert blinked hard, twice, then all but pushed Jean out of the door.

“We’ll be fine.”

The last thing Jean heard as the door closed behind him was Javert call up the stairs, “Well, fish him out and bring him down here!”

Jean chuckled as he climbed into the car. If he could get these meetings over quickly, he’d be home to rescue Javert by lunchtime.

His clients, however, had other ideas, and it was gone four by the time he pulled back into the drive.

The house was quiet when he opened the door, but the signs of a cooped up toddler were everywhere. The lounge was a disaster zone, Gavroche’s toys spread across the floor and into every corner, with one unfortunately very orange crayon smashed into the carpet.

There was a sound from the kitchen and he went through, shedding his jacket, to find Cosette was there, home from school. She was plugged into her headphones as usual, dancing around as she cleaned up the remains of breakfast and what must also be lunch, cream cheese smeared everywhere and grapes on the floor.

“Hey, baby,” he called softly, not wanting to startle her. She turned to him, grinned and pulled out an earbud.

“Papa, next time Daddy says he is feeling better, don’t believe him.”

“I won’t,” he pulled her into a hug, “Thank you for cleaning up.”

“That’s okay. They’re upstairs.”

She plugged her headphone back in and went back to the dishwasher. Ten years old and already so responsible. They’d done a good job with her, that was for sure.

Jean climbed the stairs quietly, listening for sounds of life, but all he heard was the soft chatter of the TV coming from the bedroom. He pushed the door, already ajar no doubt from Cosette’s looking in, and found the curtains drawn and the room in darkness. The TV was playing, some cartoon that Javert must have pulled up, but no one was watching it.

Javert was asleep, flat on his back, his breathing still a little heavy from his flu. Gavroche was sleeping too, curled up on Javert’s stomach, his little head resting over Javert’s heart. Javert had a hand pressed to Gavroche’s back, anchoring him in place, and Jean’s heart swelled. Gavroche had Cory, that intrepid, toilet-adventuring elephant clutched in his hand, which meant that Javert had even washed and dried it for him.

Loathe to interrupt the peace, Jean took a photo on his phone and then picked Gavroche up. If he didn’t wake him now, he’d never sleep tonight. Gavroche shifted in his arms and snuffled into his shoulder, but as soon as the weight lifted, Javert’s eyes flew open.

“What-”

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s me,” Jean reached down a hand and smoothed Javert’s hair back. He was even warmer than he had been that morning. 

“Jean?” Javert croaked, “I think perhaps I’m not as alright as I thought.”

“No, you’re not,” Jean stoked his cheek, “Go back to sleep. I’ll bring you some dinner later.”

Javert sighed and laid his head back down, turning over on his side. Jean watched him for a moment or two, before he realised that Gavroche was awake and watching too. 

“Papa,” Gavroche yawned, as they slipped out of the room, “Daddy’s poorly.”

“I know, little man.”

“We gave Cory a bath!” Gavroche waved the elephant in his face, still damp and smelling of lemon.

“I thought he smelled nice,” Jean grinned, heading downstairs, “Were you a monkey today? I’ve seen the mess downstairs!”

“Yeah!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little note to say that I am alive and still around! As well as my dissertation, I'm working on another collaboration with the wonderful iberiandoctor, which we hope to start posting soon, and another fic that I am slowly feeling my way with. Somehow, in the year that I have had the least amount of time to dedicate to fic since I graduated in 2013, I've suddenly come alive again! Go figure. I hope you're all having a great summer :D


	11. Modern AU - Wolf

In the early days, before Javert could convince himself that Jean actually liked him, they used to kiss. Kiss a lot, but nothing more, because Javert knew he had a tendency to freak out and he didn’t want to scare Jean away. Jean seemed happy enough with the arrangement, never pushing Javert further than he was willing to do, but always eager.

It was on one such night that Jean found the tattoo. Javert hadn’t been hiding it as such; after all, he had been happy to finally hitch up Jean’s sleeve and explore the prison number that he had spotted on their very first meeting, and Jean got dangerously moist eyed when Javert ran his fingers over it, gentle as he was able. The tattoo had been done inside and never healed properly, the skin scarred and bunched, and when he pulled away at the sight of Jean’s tears, he feared that he had hurt him. Jean shook his head and caught Javert’s hand, putting it back on the black numbers.

“It doesn’t hurt. No one has ever touched it, that’s all.”

They fell asleep side by side on the couch that night, Javert’s fingers drawing lazy circles on Jean’s arm.

It was a few weeks later that Jean discovered Javert’s tattoo, although the situation was essentially the same. They were curled on the couch again, both exhausted after long days at work, and Jean had plied them both with too much beer and whisky. 

Javert’s head rested on the back of the couch and he was dozing as Jean pressed lazy kisses to his neck, fingers tangled in his ponytail. It was warm, almost too warm, and Jean chased a drop of sweat that trickled down Javert’s neck, trapping it with his lips.

“Javert,” he murmured.

“Mmm?”

“I’m just going to undo your collar, ok? Two or three buttons.”

“Yep,”

Jean’s fingers were clumsy but he manhandled the buttons on the uniform shirt open and his hand, flushed and warm, slipped just inside to rest on Javert’s chest. Javert forced himself to stay calm. This was okay. It was Jean. It was only Jean, and hadn’t Javert hoped that one day he would be brave enough for Jean to be touching him a whole lot more? 

Jean resumed the neck kissing, wholly much more enjoyable, and then his finger tips began to roam, only far enough to brush against the edge of Javert’s tattoo, planted firmly on his chest.

“What’s that?” Jean asked, pulling his hand away but kneeling up to peek inside Javert’s shirt. Javert blushed, too tired to do anything but turn his head and watch as Jean saw the god awful wolf head for the first time. 

“Laugh if you want,” Javert said, trying to sound off hand, “It’s bad.”

Jean didn’t laugh though. He peeled the shirt back enough to see it properly, and Javert marvelled at how even that was okay.

“It’s not bad,” Jean touched a tip of his finger to it, “It’s beautiful.”

“It was a mistake,” Javert said, his own hand coming up to anchor onto Jean’s wrist, “I was young. I had some misguided notion that if I embraced it, it might make it better.”

“Embraced what?”

Jean was looking at him, eyes heavy with fatigue but bright, so bright, with curiosity that Javert could not help but talk.

“The name. When I was a kid, they used to call me Wolf. It wasn’t a nickname, it was an insult. Because they said my mother was a bitch and since I had no father to speak of, he must have been a passing wolf that she – well, you know. I was certainly ugly enough to be half dog, that was true enough.”

“Oh – Javert-”

“It’s alright, Jean,” Javert said, shifting under that gaze which always saw right through him, “I was stupid. That’s why I kept it, to remind me of what can happen when I don’t bloody think things through.”

As he talked, Javert was aware that this was the most he had spoken about himself in one go since the night Jean had hauled him off the bridge. And Jean wasn’t saying anything. As Javert trailed off, Jean went back to the tattoo and leaned in, carefully pressing his lips to the wolf. Javert twitched and tried to pull away, but Jean held him firm.

“Wolf,” he murmured, “They were wrong to use it as an insult. Wolves are strong and wild and shy and beautiful.”

“You’re rambling,” Javert said, but allowed Jean to pull him to his feet anyway. They both swayed, although whether from fatigue or the beer, Javert couldn’t tell. 

“Not rambling,” Jean said, “If you’re a wolf, it’s only cos you’re all those good things.”

Javert just rolled his eyes, hoping his tight grip on Jean’s hand didn’t give him away, especially when Jean dragged him to the bottom of the stairs. He hadn’t got so far as staying the night yet.

“Just sleep with me,” Jean leaned into him and brushed his nose against his neck, “Nothing else. Just want to hold you.”

Javert could not resist. Jean clattered through to the bathroom to give him time to settle into the bed, which he tried to do. He took off his trousers and shirt, squeezing into a t-shirt of Jean’s from the laundry basket. When Jean returned, similarly attired, Javert was lying on his back, trying not to bunch his hands into fists. Jean got the light, then slipped into next to him, just close enough that he could rest his cheek on Javert’s shoulder, pressing it to the wolf head. Javert wondered if Jean could feel the pounding of his heart.

“Jean-”

“Sleep. I got you.”

And as anxious as he was, Javert felt himself beginning to succumb to the softness of the bed, Jean’s warmth, and as he was just drifting off, he felt Jean’s fingers in his hair and the brush of lips to his ear.

“Beautiful. Wolves are beautiful.”


	12. Modern AU - The Late Night

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, when I started this, I didn't think Javert was going to have so many ~issues~. Foolish really, knowing what he's like. Apparently, the ~issues~ cannot be contained, even in fluffy modern AU

At seven thirty, Javert closed Gavroche’s bedroom door and wandered through to his office. He had a few files to work on, and with at least half an hour before Jean came home, he might get something done. 

He did, more than he thought, because the next thing he knew, Cosette was at his door.

“Dad, it’s almost nine o’clock. Where’s Papa?”

“Nine?” Javert looked at his watch and then up into Cosette’s concerned face. This was late for Jean, especially if he hadn’t sent a message. Javert checked his phone anyway, even though he knew it hadn’t gone off. Nothing.

“It’s OK, he probably got held up somewhere,” Javert said, to reassure himself as much as her, “You get ready and I’ll phone him.”

Cosette nodded and wandered away, and he heard the taps running in the bathroom as he pulled up the speed dial. He sank into the chair as the phone rang and rang, eventually going to the answer phone.

“Jean, it’s me, call me when you get this.”

He hung up, put his phone in his pocket, then immediately took it out again. He sent a text too, just in case.

The house was quiet, a thing that he would usually appreciate, but tonight it was off. It was missing something. Missing Jean.

He gave Cosette five minutes, then slipped into her room. At twelve she didn’t really need to be put to bed anymore, but he still liked to check on her. Jean was still reading with her most nights, sharing novel after novel, but she didn’t ask for the same thing from Javert. 

“Where is he?”

“On his way, I expect. You go to sleep.”

She didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and settled down in her bed.

“Night, Dad. Love you.”

“Love you.”

He made it downstairs and into the lounge before he couldn’t stay on his feet. Still no answer and Jean was an hour late now. He’d never left it this long without getting in touch. 

Javert had never been one to panic, and he tried to remind himself of that now. Policemen didn’t panic. They didn’t assume or jump to conclusions and he schooled his breathing, anything to try and slow his racing heart. He couldn’t panic. He wouldn’t help anyone if he panicked. 

Instead he went to the kitchen and started the washing up; the only concession he made was to place his phone by the sink, where he could easily see it. 

The most likely thing, of course, was that Jean had got caught up at the office, forgotten his charger and lost track of time. Or he’d driven one of his clerks home and been offered a drink that he would never refuse. Yes, there was any number of reasonable explanations and he focused on the task at hand until it was compete, and then he allowed himself to check his phone.

Ten o’clock.

Javert began to pace.

He went to the lounge to do it, allowed himself one more phone call that went straight to the machine, then switched on the TV and began his walking, up and down. The TV filled the silence, at least, and he let out a breath when the local news passed with nothing of note to say. 

Patient. He had to be patient.

His stomach turned over and over, and he had to put his phone out of the way. He went to the window and gazed up the street, found he couldn’t see well and went to the door instead. He leaned against the door post, unsure that his legs would hold him much longer. The road was quiet.

He went back in, made a cup of coffee to give his hands something to do, paced back in the lounge. He was itching, as though he was on fire, and all he could think was that Jean must be somewhere, hurt or trapped, and he could do nothing to help. He buried his face in his hands, rocking in the chair, God, to think – to think that – 

Then, just as he thought he’d go mad from the waiting, he heard a car coming up the road and the crunch of gravel on the driveway. 

_Oh, thank God._

He met Jean at the door, fighting himself not to leap on the man as soon as he came in. He crossed his arms to hide his trembling hands.

“I am so sorry I’m late,” Jean shook his head, “You wouldn’t believe-”

Javert managed to retain his calm until the moment Jean removed his jacket. His shirt was covered in blood.

“Christ, Jean, what happened? You’re bleeding!”

He only realised that he had taken hold of the shirt when Jean put his own hands over Javert’s.

“It’s not mine,” Jean said, “Breathe. It’s not mine, Javert.”

Javert was vaguely aware of being guided to the sofa, and he watched as Jean pulled the ruined shirt over his head and dropped it on the floor.

“See?” he said, “Look at me, Javert. I’m alright.”

His heart was pounding in his ears, his fear coursing through his body, unrepressed now and raging, and he felt rather than saw Jean sit beside him and wrap his arms around his shoulders.

“I’m alright. My phone died and I thought it would be fine but I saw a man come off his motorbike at the bottom of the hill by the office. I had to help him, he was in a mess.”

Javert nodded, although he wasn’t sure that he had really heard the words, not at first. Jean held him tightly, murmuring in his ear until he felt his chest begin to loosen and he could breathe deeply again. 

“Was he alright?” he muttered, “The man?”

“Not great but he’ll live,” Jean said thickly, and when Javert looked at him, he saw tears gathering in his eyes. He reached up a thumb and wiped away one that had managed to escape. 

“Don’t cry. Please.”

“I’m so sorry, I didn’t think of letting you know,” Jean growled, “It was selfish of me. You must have been so worried.”

“I was,” Javert said, and it still makes him marvel that he has come this far, that he is someone who can just talk about his feelings now as though it won’t kill him, “But you’re here. Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t,” Jean kissed him, gentle lips on his ear, his cheek, “I need to have a shower, I can feel it all over me. Come with me?”

“I’ll make some toast and bring it up. I doubt you’ve eaten.”

“You’re too good to me.”

“Don’t bloody forget it.”


	13. The Morning After The Night Before

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mention of suicide attempt

The day after Javert almost jumped off the bridge, he removed himself from the life of the stranger who had stopped to save his. He woke early, so early it was dark, and slipped out of the house before anyone else was up. He hardly knew where he was; he hadn’t exactly been in the right frame of mind to keep track of the route last night, but that didn’t matter. He just had to get out, and fast. 

So he walked and walked, headed in what he thought was the direction of his flat and when he saw a bus on its route, he knew where he was. Not actually that far from the bridge, and he couldn’t help himself. He was drawn to it, helpless, with the screams echoing still in his head. 

He took up the position he had the night before, gazing down into the swirling water, and for a wild moment, he almost did what he should have done before. If it wasn’t for the cars full of early morning commuters rushing along behind him, perhaps he would have. Then he remembered Jean’s voice, the arms around him, holding him whilst he sobbed like a child, and how it had for a moment been as though he was not alone. He couldn’t do it. Not right now, anyway. He’d lost his nerve, like he did with every fucking thing. 

So he went back to work, and he didn’t tell anyone what had happened, because who would he tell? They’d only want to take him off duty and then where would he be? Even more alone that he already was, with nothing to take his mind off it. He worked long, long hours and only stumbled home to sleep and always there was the bridge, just out of sight, as he walked the two miles from home to work and back again. It would be so easy. 

Then one day he was at his desk and a sergeant poked her head around the door. 

“Inspector, there’s a man here to see you. Says his name is Jean and you’d be expecting him?”

Javert froze, his pen dropping from his hand. 

He was here? 

“Send him in,” he said, his voice rough, “Please.”

He stood up as she left, then sat down again, then leapt to his feet as Jean came through the door. He was alone, the little blonde haired child who had spotted Javert on the bridge not at his side, and for that Javert was relieved. He did not think he had the strength to meet the girl properly. 

“You left without saying goodbye,” Jean leaned against the wall, his arms crossed, “Cosette was very upset, you know. I had a hard time convincing her that you were safe and well. I still don’t think that she believes me.”

“How did you find me?”

“You’re a policeman,” Jean said, “Not that many stations round here. I just drove round asking for you until someone said they’d fetch you.”

“And why – “Javert could feel himself floundering. This man was a stranger, a stranger who had seen him at his very worst and suddenly here he was, demanding answers as though they had been friends all along, “What are you doing here?”

“Got to convince Cosette that you’re safe,” Jean shrugged, “It’s been weeks and she’s still asking.”

“Well, you’ve seen me. You can tell her.”

“Not good enough,” Jean smiled then, and Javert had to look away, “You’re going to have to make an appearance, I’m afraid.”

“Look, I’m grateful for what you did-”

“Show it then,” Jean took a step towards him and Javert actually felt himself back away. Jean’s eyes were dark, boring into him and he remembered how much this man knew about him, the things he had told him that night. He knew him better than anyone that he had worked with in this station, and wasn’t that just about the most pathetic thing of all?

“Come for dinner one day,” Jean said, his voice softer, “Just dinner. Cosette can see you and then you never need to bother with us again. It would mean a lot. To her and to me.”

The heat in the office was stifling and Jean’s fiery presence only made it worse, and that was why Javert agreed, in the end, to get him out of there. Or at least, that is why he told himself he had agreed. 

Two days later, he walked up to the familiar front door, a bottle of wine clutched in his hands, and rang the bell. 

“Papa, he’s here!” a little voice cried out, “The man is here!”

“His name is Javert,” Jean was saying as he opened the door, “Not ‘the man’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's actually had some time today to do a bit of rambling?


End file.
